


Russian Mafia Princess

by Conflictingfanfictions



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 00:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conflictingfanfictions/pseuds/Conflictingfanfictions
Summary: (I SUCK AT BLURBS BUT I TRIED!) Freya had a simple normal life...that is until she started going to The Garden of Eden, a popular BDSM club. It's there she met Roman who would soon become her regular dominate. Freya had never met a dominate who enjoyed domination in sex as well as being emotionally dominate, in a caring way. It was everything she always wanted, without even knowing it. One night when Roman fails to show up to their meeting Freya is kidnapped, and it's there everything changes. Now, her life is in danger because of the man she felt so safe with.





	Russian Mafia Princess

**Author's Note:**

> All information will be on my tumblr :) ((which is where you're probably coming from! but disclaimer this is going to be a ddlg/bdsm story!

     The sweet aroma of vanilla and lavender wafted through Freya’s senses as she entered The Garden of Eden, a popular BDSM club in down town New York. The silky fabric of her sky-blue dress lightly brushed against her heating, tawny, skin as she sashayed her way over to the mahogany bar. Taking a seat on one of the red leather, and bronze rim studded, stools she waited for her usual top, Roman, to arrive.

     The Garden of Eden was unlike any BDSM club Freya had been to. The front room was clean and lined with red booths and ash wood tables. In the middle of the large floor were raised tables were the submissive’s would sit and talk; while dominates sat in the booths either observing them or conversing amongst each other. The club usually played a soothing melody of classical music on low volume, which Freya always enjoyed, and if anyone were to step into the club they would, most likely, deem it a regular bar.

     The club had strict rules. The first was never play in the front room. It was fine for a dominate to tell a submissive, with the consent of the submissive, what to eat or if they wanted the submissive to get them something but anything sexual was left to the backrooms. The bar served a limit of two drinks per person and they had a special card which was swiped every time they ordered something. In the back part of the club were negotiation rooms where people sat and discussed what they planned to do. Everything was recorded and stored inside those individuals’ files, for safety.  In the play room you were instructed to have a safe word. It could be any word you wanted but it needed to be done. And finally, there were aftercare rooms. Rooms with couches, beds, and bathtubs were submissive’s were pampered by dominates after a long session. The club also had a collaring program. If you came with a dominate (or submissive) or had a regular dominate (or submissive) you received a red wrist band. It was your choice to wear it or not, but it would stop others from approaching you. Sexual harassment was not tolerated. If anyone did anything that broke a rule, depending on how sever the rule was, you would be asked to leave. First, would be suspension if it was a minor rule such as causing drama with another person or committing a sexual act in the front room. If the behavior continued a second time you would be kicked out for good.

     It had only been a few months since Freya had joined the club and within those months she had met Roman. She was surprised when he had picked her out of the sea of obedient women and men; however, they weren’t in the slightest way exclusive. If he so wished he could play with another submissive or she could obey another dominate, but so far that hadn’t been the case. The last time they had played together, nearly a week ago, he instructed her to be at the club at a specific hour and being the obedient submissive she was, Freya arrived exactly on time.

     Freya’s bright fern green eyes darted around the crowded room. She had already told the bartender what drink she wanted and was now gawking, intently, at the heavy oak carved door, waiting for Roman to arrive. “You know, sugar, starring at that door won’t make he come any faster,” announced the familiar voice of Tiffany, her best friend and mentor. Freya’s eyes shot to Tiffany who stood in front of her with a martini glass in hand. Freya had always envied Tiffany. She was the type of girl that was popular in high school with sun blonde hair, blueberry colored irises, and a firm curvy body.  They had first met at an older club that Freya had gone to when she was first experimenting with the community. Tiffany showed her how to be a proper submissive. Of course, there were trail and errors, but Tiffany always made sure Freya was well looked after.

   Tiffany sat on the stool next to Freya, a soft smile playing on her gentle lips. Tonight, she was wearing a long modest black dress that covered any skin, flat shoes, and of course her red wrist band. It was very unusual for her to be wearing something so modest, but Freya guessed it was at the orders of her mistress, Gabrielle. The corners of Freya’s mouth twitched in amusement at Tiffany’s comment about Roman. “I know, I know. I’m just wondering what he has planned tonight,” she replied in earnest.

“I’m sure it’ll be a regular _Roman_ type night,” Tiffany giggled. Freya rolled her eyes in a playfully irritated way then turned in the stool to take her drink from the counter.

     She knew what Tiffany meant. Roman was always unpredictable. Some nights he would be dominate in the sexual way and other nights he would be more dominate in a caring way. Sometimes he would treat her like his slave and make her do anything he wanted but at other times he treated her like a fragile porcelain doll which needed to be tended to and cared for. If Freya informed him she hadn’t eaten, he would command her to eat whatever he ordered. Or sometimes he would merely have her sit by him all night and talk about her week. It was pleasant to not be treated like an object of sexual desire, but it was also torture when all Freya wanted to do was be touched, hit, and put into her place. 

 “How’s Mistress Gabrielle?” Freya finally asked breaking the silence. “She’s good and should be here soon I hope,” Tiffany answered right when Gabrielle walked through the door, dressed in a sleek cranberry red pantsuit.

“Whelp, I better get going. I hope your stud arrives soon,” Tiffany joshed and stood. “Have _fun_ ,” Freya cooed as Tiffany ambled away.

     Two hours seemed to drone on and Freya had since had at least seven dominates offer to take her into a playroom; to which she declined. With a sigh, she stood then sulked out of the club. When she opened the door, Freya cringed at the harsh, cold, New York night air. It was unlike Roman to be late and even more unlike him to stand her up. Freya worried something had happened, but then she pondered if it was her business.

     Taking her phone from her bra, something Roman had scolded and punished her for time and time again because he was afraid it was harming her, she looked up the number for her favorite taxi service. Footsteps sounded behind her making the hairs on her body stand on edge. Freya hated living in the city sometimes but especially at night. The frigid feeling of a blade pressed against her throat made a sharp surprised and afraid gasp escape her parted lips. A deep voice of a man whispered something in another language into her ear.

     “W-what?” Freya managed to spit out. “Where is he?” hissed the man in a Spanish accent. Freya’s body went tight, and her heart felt as if it would escape her ribcage. She didn’t know who the man was referring to, but she wanted to flee.

      Thinking back to her youth, Freya remembered all the self-defense classes she had taken at the civic center when she was a teenager. At the time they seemed silly, but now she was grateful her mother forced her to go. Bring her leg up, she heeled the man in the groin. Once he was bent over in pain Freya ran as fast as she could, kicking off her heels in the process.

     Turning into an alley Freya bent over and tried to catch her breath. Her lungs felt on fire, her legs were weak, and her feet felt grimy with dirt and wet with, hopefully, rain water. _I defiantly should start working out._ She thought. “Well, well, you are a very…mmm how do you say in English? slippery girl,” a soft male voice commented from behind her. Spinning on her heels she whirled around to face the man but was met with a searing pain to her cheek and her body crashed to the ground. The last thing she saw was a pair of black leather shoes before her eyes closed and everything went black.

     As Freya waved into consciousness, copper is all she could focus on. The coppery taste filling her mouth and the burning sensation of her wrist and ankles clouded her already fogy mind. Her limbs were pulled apart and tied with rope. Under her body she felt cushion as if she were lying on bed. Her eyes were blindfolded, and her mouth was gaged. The smell of her surroundings was that of old metal and industrial equipment. In her mouth was a hard, round, ball gag.

     The sound of a door creaking open punched fear and anxiety into her heart. Who was there? What did they want? Rape was the first thing that came to her mind and it made her panic even more. She cringed as a chair scrapped across the, presumably, wooden floor and came to settle next to the bed. “I am going to remove your ball-gag now and you are not to scream. Understood?” the same man that had knocked her out questioned.

      Freya slowly nodded. The weight of the man squished down the mattress as he unbuckled her ball-gag and removed it. Freya’s jaw felt stiff as she moved it around. “Now, where is he?” the man asked as he lifted off the bed. Freya could hear him plop into the chair. “W-who?” Freya squeaked as tears burned in her throat. “Roman Volkov” the man stated. “R-roman? I don’t know…” Freya struggled to speak. She _didn’t_ know where Roman was, but she feared what the man would do if he didn’t get the answers he wanted.

     “Do not lie to me!” The man hissed through gritted teeth. Freya couldn’t stop warm tears from streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t know!” she confessed again.

* **TRIGGER WARNING FOR SEXUAL HARRASSMENT! WILL PUT A SIGN WHEN IT ENDS!** **

     What did Roman have to do with these people? And why did they want her? The chair moved across the floor again and Freya could feel the man press down on the bed. His cold, nimble fingers trailed up her stomach and around her breast. His hands settled at of the neckline of her dress then ripped it down the center; exposing her bare flesh. Freya hadn’t bothered to wear underwear knowing Roman would, more than likely, tear them and she didn’t want to ruin another pair.

     Gasping she tried to squirm away, but was still held firmly in place by her ropes. “P-please I’ll tell you anything you want,” she begged, shrinking farther into the mattress. “I want to know where Roman is,” The man uttered, removing her bra before pinching her sensitive, hard, nipple. Freya let out a soft whimper. “I don’t know where he is! We’re not close I’m just-just- “she trailed off. “A whore, yes?” the man interjected. “You enjoy pain, yes? The whore enjoys pain?” Freya kept silent and flinched as the man slapped her breast; leaving behind a stinging pain. “Answer me, whore!” The man barked. “N-no!... no, I don’t!” Freya answered. She clenched her jaw as the man took it in his grasp and rotated her face from side to side. “Such a good girl.” He praised. Freya jerked her head away and spat in the man’s direction. “Oh, such a fighter,” his lips pressed down on hers and his slimly tongue weaved its way into her mouth. Freya bit down and the man fowled in pain, pulling away. He screamed something in Spanish.  “I will fix your attitude right now!” he snapped. A shiver flowed through Freya’s bones as she heard a zipper and the soft sound of a belt unbuckling. Immediately regretting her decision, she whimpered and cried. “Hush now, it’ll be better if you relax,” the man coasted his hand down her torso and to her cunt. Freya wildly bucked around. “NO! STOP! PLEASE!” she pleaded. “Shut up! Do not scream. Unless you want that ball gag back in your pretty mouth- “

** **END OF TRIGGER WARNING!** **

     a gunshot rippled through the room and the man’s bulky body collapsed onto Freya.

     A high-pitched scream erupted from Freya’s lungs and she frantically bucked around to remove the body pressed against hers. The man’s body landed on the ground with a _thud_. Freya spat the man’s blood from her mouth then frantically whipped her head around. “Please, please, I don’t know him! I don’t know what’s going on! Don’t kill me I just want to go home! Please, don’t kill me!” Freya pleaded through sobs of pity. “Freya, Freya, you are okay now,” Roman’s Russian accent bled through the silence. He removed her blind fold and Freya starred into his steely grey eyes. His semi-thin pink lips curved into a reassuring smile as he untied her hands. Rubbing her wrist Freya looked down at her blood-soaked torso. “W-what’s going on?” she asked, adverting her attention to the dead man on the floor; his head blown out from the back. When Roman finished untying her feet he went to help her up, but Freya flinched away. “I will have to explain later. We have to go no- “Roman was interrupted by Freya’s sobbing breath. “No! no, Roman! I want to know n- “she exclaimed with tears streaming down her face. “Freya, I need you to trust me,” Roman interrupted and threw her over his shoulder as if she were a ragdoll.

     “Roman, put me down!” Freya protested. Roman said nothing and merely started to stride out of the room. As they exited the room, Roman stopped and gave orders to a man in Russian. Freya didn’t know what he said, but Roman began to walk faster until they were out of the building. Once in the open Freya attempted to cover her breast as the cold air tickled her skin. Roman set her down next to a white SUV. “Get in please,” He gestured towards the open door. Freya gazed back at the warehouse they had fled and quickly entered the SUV. Sitting down she buckled her seatbelt and covered her exposed breast. Roman gave an order in Russian to the driver before closing the door. Without a word, He leaned over Freya and placed a thick blanket over her.

     As they rode down the dark and vacant outskirts roads of the city, Freya had so many questions. “Where are we going?” she managed to choke out through a raw throat. Roman waited a moment, his eyes adverted to the window; making them shine in the streetlamp lights. “To my house,” he replied in a monotone voice. Usually Freya found his accent soothing but today she found it dreadfully cold. “You’re place?” She questioned, having never been there. “Why don’t you just take me home?”

     “Because it is unsafe there,” Roman replied.

     “And it’s safe with you?”  Freya mumbled under her breath. Roman seemed taken aback by her tone and statement. His attention went to her and she could see his jaw clenched; the way it usually did when they were at the club and she told him she hadn’t eaten or slept well the night before. It was the look of disapproval or hurt. “Freya, I am the safest place for you right now. Those people,” his voice raised in volume and he sat up straight, “those people will hurt you! And I will not allow that to happen. You were lucky to get who you did and lucky I got there when I did. I will _not_ let luck happen again. Now, we are going to go to my place. We are going to clean you up and afterwards you are going to go to bed and in the morning, I will tell you everything when I am ready. But, as of now you are not to worry about it,” when Roman finished he looked back out the window.

     Freya bit the inside of her lip and nodded. It was something about him telling her that she was to not worry that slightly appeased her mind.

     The car soon stopped in front of an apartment building. It was a tall building and obviously built for the rich and powerful. The building itself was to dark to see but the entry way was guarded by two men wearing black. Marble steps lead to glass doors to which displayed a nicely decorated, stone floor, lobby. Freya’s mouth slightly parted as she stepped out of the SUV. “You live here?” she asked in slight disbelief. “I own it. Come,” he answered, placing a hand to the middle of her back and leading her inside. Freya smiled softly at the two men who opened the doors for them. They didn’t smile back. She was lead by Roman through the lobby and to an elevator. A soft gasp left her lips as he picked her up. “You are tracking dirt on to my floors,” he stated as the elevator dinged. He carried her inside and Freya couldn’t help but feel safe in his strong arms. It was the same feeling she received when he gave her aftercare. It was a secured bliss.

     When the Elevator dinged again Freya noticed her eyes had closed. Stirring a bit in Romans arms she was greeted by a soft shushing sound. “You will be able to go to sleep soon, Freya,” Roman said as he carried her through the apartment. He took her to a modern styled bathroom and laid her down on the surprising warm tiled floor. A groan left Freya’s tired mouth but Roman hushed her again. “It is okay, princess, I am going to clean you up and then you can sleep,” he said, unwrapping the blanket from around her and taking off her tattered dress. Freya felt at peace. The name princess was given to her by him when they had played with each other continuously. It was something she considered to be an honor.

     Through half lidded eyes, Freya watched Roman check the temperature of an already prepared bath. Moments later he scooped her up and placed her into the tub. The warm water heated her soul and body as Freya exhaled a breath she had been holding since her attack. “That is, it, princess, just relax. I am here now,” Roman whispered, taking a cloth and gently rubbing it along her dark flesh. It was the way he rubbed the cloth against her that made Freya know he wasn’t merely cleaning her body. He was inspecting it. His movements were slow as he guided the rag down her neck and to her breast. Constantly ringing out the cloth of dirt and grim. His hand traveled around her perky, average, chest and down to her semi-flat stomach. His big hand was gentle with her and it took care to wash every inch of her exposed flesh. When he reached her cunt, he paused and traveled up her legs and down to her filthy feet. He then moved to her other leg and did the same. Slowly he washed every inch of her. Humming softly to a song that sounded like a Russian lullaby.  

      When he was done with her front, Freya rotated her body a bit, enjoying the feeling of how the water flowed against her skin. The day’s events slowly began to catch up with her and then as if a dam had busted all her emotions of fear and anxiety she felt came rushing over her. Drowning her in feelings, tears burned her eyes and slowly they fell into the water. It wasn’t long until Roman noticed. He silently wiped them off her cheeks with his index finger. Freya couldn’t help it and one by one tears fell from her eyes and her breathing became heavier. Soon her few tears turned into a whimper and then a sob and finally a full cry. Roman picked up her head and held her close to his beating heart. Then he scooped up her body and walked to a bedroom that connected to the bathroom.

      Laying her down on the bed, not caring she was dripping wet, he laid next to her. Freya wept as he cuddled her tightly and rubbed her back. She could feel him pepper kisses on her forehead to calm her down, but it only brought her a bit of comfort. Freya cried harder; hyperventilating a bit. “Princess, I know you are scared but I am here now, and nothing is going to hurt you. I promise.” Those were the last words Freya heard before drifting off into slumber. She felt safe with Roman. She knew she was safe in his arms and she knew when she woke up she would have to figure out what action to take. But for now, sleep was her greatest friend.

 


End file.
